


one last dance

by ndnickerson



Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Dancing, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Forbidden Love, Growing Up Together, Jealousy, Loss of Virginity, Marriage, Power Imbalance, Slow Dancing, Tumblr: otpprompts, Waltzing, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 02:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3232856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ned comes to River Heights, he feels like he's come home. Then he finds that he might be losing the most important part of his home: his employer's daughter. (Nancy/Ned, Regency AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	one last dance

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from otpprompts on tumblr: Imagine Person A is royalty, betrothed to someone they don’t love (NoTP). Person B is their personal servant, and is secretly in love with A. Shortly before the night of a grand ball, B discovers that A has never had the time to learn how to dance. B agrees to teach A, so they won’t make a fool of themselves in front of a huge crowd. When it comes time to teach the Waltz, B can’t keep the secret any longer and confesses. What happens next is up to you.
> 
> Kind of works as a prequel to [by starlight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/249286), oddly enough.

River Heights didn't belong to Ned. But some mornings, some days, it almost felt like it did.

When he had made the trip up the drive for the first time, barely fifteen, wide-eyed, still growing into his long, awkward limbs, the sight of the house had taken his breath away. His family's estate, Mapleton, was modest and lovely. The people in the neighboring village thought his mother's insistence on assisting the gardeners herself was odd, but they loved her for her tender heart and her generosity. He had missed her and his father intensely, and he still did, but from the moment he had seen River Heights, a part of Ned had felt like he was home. As the country home of the Earl of Wroxford, Carson Drew, River Heights provided the perfectly appointed setting, expert staff, and generous space for entertaining those the Earl had befriended during his time in London serving in the House of Lords. The grounds were meticulously kept to maintain the appearance of artless, spontaneous beauty. Wroxford's stables were peerless.

It was a challenge, a challenge that Ned had been willing to take on, to act as Wroxford's right hand and manage his land and his attached properties for him. His previous steward, Ned's great-uncle, had been ready to retire; Ned's older cousin Terrence had been named their grandfather's heir, and Ned had a few options. He could join the military, enter the clergy, or live on his father's generosity. Spending a Season or two in London, trying to attract the attentions of a wealthy woman, didn't appeal to him at all. The offer to learn to be a steward had come at exactly the right time. After three years, once Ned's great-uncle felt sure he could handle the job, Ned had risen to the title of steward at the young age of eighteen.

For those three years, while he had been learning, _she_ had always been there. He was five years her senior, and when they had first been introduced by his great-uncle, Ned had thought she was cute. Miss Nancy Drew, one and only daughter of Carson Drew, with wavy reddish-gold hair and mischievous blue eyes, who spent nearly every waking hour outside playing with her friends, supervised by her doting nurse Hannah. The poor lamb, Ned's great-uncle told him then, was already promised to the son of one of Wroxford's friends. Barely able to toddle about, and her future already named for her.

Ned had blamed it on his great-uncle's sentimentality. He talked about every room and the updates made, the improvements on each farm, the previous master and mistress, Wroxford's sister, and Carson and Nancy and the girl's late mother with a sort of fondness that Ned had never heard him use before. He talked about River Heights as though, in a way, it was his own, and he served as its heart. He wanted to leave the place with a strong, young heart to keep it going for a long time.

Soon Ned began to feel that same protectiveness and pride in it, in all the people River Heights supported, and even in the master and the young mistress. Carson was a good, caring man, who listened to the cries of those whose social standing meant they were often ignored. He was a loving father, even though he was often far from home.

Nancy, at ten years old, clearly missed her father more than she cared to admit, and that longing only grew as the years passed. Ned thought of her the way he thought of his cousins, with a certain almost familial fondness. She had challenged him to a horseback race when she was twelve, proceeding even when he had even told her that they shouldn't, and she had very nearly won. She sat still long enough for her lessons in Latin and French, arithmetic and painting, but she had little patience for what Ned had heard were the special accomplishments of women of her class, embroidery and music especially.

That was why Ned had been incredibly startled to discover her in the music room one night, when she was seventeen and he was twenty-two. Her presumptive fiancé had paid a visit with his family, and she had behaved every inch like a lady every time Ned had seen her, every word and gesture unfailingly polite, her voice low and musical, that sparkle in her eye dampened to a more acceptable level. Her behavior had earned an indulgent, approving smile from her father, and a definite nod of approval from her future mother-in-law.

As though to release all she had pent up during that visit, Nancy was playing the pianoforte with skill and vigor, bent over the keys. Her slender form was wrapped in a blue satin dressing gown, her hair falling in loose waves down her back.

And he loved her then. He had known that he loved her since she was sixteen, since he had seen her with new eyes, as a beautiful, intelligent young woman instead of his employer's precocious daughter. Oh, maybe now she wore her bonnet more often to keep from burning the tip of her nose and her cheeks, and maybe now her long skirts hid the skinned knees she suffered while climbing walls or gates in search of clues, but she was still the girl she had been. He knew her for who she was, and he also knew there could be nothing between them. She would marry Hardy when she was eighteen; she would leave River Heights, and live with her husband's family. He would see her rarely, if ever.

Ned would keep River Heights safe and prosperous, for her father and in honor of her. He was beginning to see it as his great-uncle had. It was his home, and he loved it. He had even invited his parents to come visit once he had become steward, with his employer's blessing, and they had been more than impressed by the house and the grounds. He would always love his parents, and he always had, but here, he had a place and he was its heart.

The summer she was eighteen, during one of their meetings to discuss expenses and tenants, Carson couldn't stop smiling. Nancy's promised fiancé was coming for a visit, and his family with him. Carson was planning a grand ball, and it would almost certainly provide the perfect setting for the formal announcement of their engagement, their first event together. Though the London season was still going on, it was winding down, and Carson was planning on inviting a house full of guests. Dressmakers were frantically preparing what was almost a brand-new wardrobe, and doubtless some of her trousseau. Once their engagement was formally announced, once the banns were read and all the preparations made, she would be a married woman.

Ned smiled and nodded instead of revealing to Carson any of what was on his mind. The late-night music recitals had begun again. Nancy kept a brave smile on her face when she was around her father and everyone else, but she was unhappy. He was afraid to ask. Sometimes she still challenged him to those breakneck rides, but not so often anymore, and often they were both too winded to discuss anything. She was his employer's daughter and she was entirely, fully out of his grasp. She would never see him as anything more than he was, and he would never see her as anything less than she was.

That night, when Ned walked by the music room, he was surprised to find it silent and empty. Nancy wasn't asleep, though. He saw the light she carried as she crossed the lawn toward the stables.

He followed her, keeping as quiet as he could, because he wanted to keep her safe for as long as he could. When he realized where she was going, though, he slowed down some. The family cemetery was just as lovingly maintained as the rest of the property, and the flowers on the late countess's grave were changed often. He wasn't close enough to overhear what Nancy said when she knelt down beside it, and he didn't want to. The late countess was her mother, whom she missed very much, and the moment was private. He made sure she returned to the house safely, then did one last circuit.

It had happened a few times: a return long after nightfall, an apologetic smile, those dancing blue eyes gazing up into his face. He had let her into the house and kept her secret, shooing her to bed unless Hannah needed to tend to some more serious wounds. He had seen her delighted after solving some mystery in the village, and disappointed when she was unable to figure out a clue.

Ned wondered what would happen to her the first time she tried something like that after her marriage. If she and her husband slept apart—which made Ned feel a rush of unwelcome, fierce jealousy—maybe she could get away with it a few times. But if she decided, or if her husband decided for her, that she had to be a proper lady, that her mysteries were a childish pursuit and had to be put away when she left her father's house...

Ned would never have forbid it, not when it brought her such happiness. He had seen her genuine interest in and generosity toward the people in the village and the tenants on the farms. She took medicine and supplies to those who were sick, played with the children, and spent all day _alive_. If Ned was River Heights' heart, she was its soul. And she would be gone.

The dowager house, currently unoccupied, was being prepared for the upcoming deluge, since the housekeeper wasn't sure how many guests would be in attendance and it was better to be prepared. The rooms had been aired, the linens laid out, everything polished. When he was unable to sleep Ned walked out to it, listening to the hundred small ways the estate told him it was alive. A soft whickering from the stables, the baying of a dog, the wind leaving the trees' leaves fluttering.

He climbed to the highest point in the dowager house and looked at the main house. A faint light showed from behind the curtains in Nancy's room. All else looked silent and dark. The house was too quiet for her to play and attract no one's notice.

How would it be, once his own heart was gone?

Ned ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. He wanted her to be happy, and if he could be sure, if he _knew_ she would be, it wouldn't be so hard. He had just been protecting and keeping River Heights safe for so long that he didn't want to lose Nancy.

The next time he saw her alone was the night before the house party was scheduled to begin. Her closest friends, Bess and George and Helen, had already arrived, and so had her Aunt Eloise. Even now the house was in a flurry of activity, but the music room was unoccupied, save for her. She wore a long pale-blue dress in simple cotton, and he saw her twirling in the center of the room, but her cheeks were shining with tears in the low candlelight. He heard her sniffle as he stepped into the room and pulled the door almost closed.

"Nancy?"

She ducked her head, and he could tell she was wiping her face before she brought it back up and gave him a small, brave smile. "Good evening, Mr. Nickerson," she said, with a little curtsy. "I apologize if I disturbed you."

"Not at all," he said, his voice quiet and—and inappropriately low, almost intimate. He cleared his throat. "Can I do anything for you, m'lady?"

The smile stayed on her face, but her eyes became almost watchful. "It is embarrassing," she told him. "I... my dancing instructor saw me earlier today and we went over the steps, but I... I found myself preoccupied, and now I cannot remember how to dance the waltz." She glanced down, and her body seemed to almost shrink a little, to fold inward. "None of my friends have yet learned it. I suppose I shall have to endure the ignominy of asking to learn it again."

"So you may dance it at the grand ball."

"Yes." Her voice was almost a whisper. When she brought her head up again, her eyes were shining. "I... I'm sorry. Please excuse me."

She walked toward him, her face pale, eyes stricken, head bowed. Ned's heart was beating harder as he reached out a hand to stay her, and she glanced up at him just as another pair of tears slid down her cheeks.

"I am no dancing instructor, but I could try to help," he offered. Though the thought of teaching her how to dance with her future husband in such an intimate way made him ache.

She stood speechless, searching his face, and then she released a little sigh he couldn't quite interpret. Then she nodded, and her expression was just as resigned and heartsick as he felt.

They moved to the center of the room, and Ned had a fleeting thought of how inappropriate his suggestion was, and what might happen if someone discovered them. Then she moved her hand to his shoulder and joined the other to his, and he had no thought left other than her.

He wasn't sure he had ever been so close to her, save once when she had sprained an ankle too badly to make it inside unassisted; he didn't think his heart would have recovered. She was so beautiful, with her hair hanging loose down her shoulders, her eyes an even darker blue and dark-lashed by her tears. He hated to see her so sad.

"The dance is done on a count of three."

She flashed him a brief, insincere smile. "I remember," she whispered.

He thought back to the last dance he had attended. Nancy had been there too, participating in the country dances; she had not yet been able to dance the waltz. He settled on an appropriate tune and began to hum it, tapping his fingers lightly against her side. "One-two-three, one-two-three," she murmured along with his taps, and then he swept her into the dance.

She had been exaggerating, or he was a better dancing teacher. She made a few false steps, which he gently corrected, but after a circuit of the room she had enough confidence to glance up from looking at their feet. In the process, their bodies had moved closer, but he wasn't pressed against her.

"Better?" he asked, once they were settled into the rhythm of the dance and no longer needed the music so much. He continued to hum under his breath, though.

She sniffled again. "Yes," she murmured. "I... am I expected to converse during this dance? I don't know..."

She took a false step and he instinctually wrapped his arms around her fully, drawing her to him. She buried her face against his shoulder and clung to him, her slender body trembling as she quietly cried.

"Shh," he whispered, stilling his steps and rubbing her back. "Shh, love."

All time seemed to stop, then, and he wished with all his heart that he could take it back. He hadn't meant to say it. Not at all. He had never wanted to tell her.

She sniffled again and moved back to look into his eyes. Her face was flushed and her eyes swollen from her tears, and in that moment he knew he could just smile and tell her that he had misspoken, that he loved her like a sister, like a member of his family...

But she searched his eyes and he found that he couldn't lie to her. Damn the consequences, but he couldn't lie to her, and it would be her choice if she smiled and patted his arm and wished him a good night. It would be like tonight had never happened.

He gently lowered her so her feet were on the floor again, but she didn't move away from him. Instead, she gently cupped his cheek. "Mr. Nickerson."

"Ned." His heart had apparently taken control of his lips, bypassing his brain entirely. In the low candlelight, she looked so, so beautiful, and he only wanted to make her happy again.

"Ned," she sighed. "I... do you love me?"

He nodded. There was no point in saying anything different, or anything else. He felt like it was all over his face, undeniable, and she still hadn't moved away from him. His heart, his foolish heart, wanted to pick her up and take her somewhere, anywhere, to let himself hold the dream of being with her for just a little while. Letting her go would still hurt, but at least he would have that memory for a while.

"You... you never told me," she murmured. "But I see you, sometimes. Like a shadow, making sure I stay safe. I've always thought you were very handsome."

He couldn't stop himself from grinning. "You have?"

She nodded. "But I always thought you looked at me like a little sister."

"I did." His fingers were trembling faintly as he gently stroked her cheek. "And then one day you were a beautiful young woman."

She searched his eyes again, and Ned found the strength to fight the urge to kiss her, even though it was terribly strong. He couldn't, he just couldn't. She was promised to someone else. As far as he knew, she loved someone else.

And then she tipped her chin up, her lashes fluttering down, and he couldn't fight it anymore. He had kissed a few women, but he hadn't felt this way about any of them.

He knew that she hadn't been kissed before by the way she responded to him, with surprise, almost shock. She didn't fully relax against him, but her cheek burned as he slowly deepened the chaste kiss to something more intense.

"Oh," she breathed, when they parted. "Oh..."

"I'm sorry." Reality, cold and awful as it was, had begun to creep back in. If anyone discovered them this way, he would be dismissed, and she would likely be disgraced. He had no right to put her through it. He had no right to take such liberties with her, no matter how he felt about her.

"You are?" She was panting softly, and he could feel her chest rising and falling against his. "Because I'm not sorry, not at all."

Ned didn't trust himself to speak.

Nancy took a long, deep breath, then took a step back, and a little more of that feverish insanity passed as he deflated a little. It was all he could have, this stolen moment, and he wouldn't force himself to regret it either, not if it hadn't hurt her.

"I..." She choked up. Her eyes were shining again when she looked at him, her arms wrapped around her. "I think I love you too," she whispered.

Then she turned and walked away, and he had no choice but to stand and watch her go.

\--

The house was full of guests. Preparations for a garden party and fete for the local villagers, followed by the ball to celebrate the impending engagement announcement, were nearly complete. Judging by the sounds from the salon, the assembled guests had begun an exuberant game of charades.

Nancy's presumed fiancé looked just as handsome as ever, Ned had been displeased to note. She had received him with a gentle smile, her gaze loving, no hint of what had transpired between her and her father's steward on her face. Ned began to wonder if he had dreamed it, if it had happened at all.

It was no use, wondering. She had decided on her course and it was his task to support her, just as it had always been. At least he had been able to tell her how he felt.

He just needed to make sure that she understood. He just wanted her to be incandescently happy for the rest of her days. Even if they were separated by a hundred or a thousand miles, he only wanted her to be happy.

He was at his desk, immersed in his work to keep himself from the turmoil of his thoughts, when Hannah came in. The matronly woman had always adored Nancy, and treated her like the child she had never had. At Nancy's insistence, she had stayed on even once her young charge was fully out of the nursery.

"Oh. Mr. Nickerson." Hannah was clearly surprised to see him working on figures so late. When he was away, this room was in the servants' domain. "I'm so sorry."

Ned shook his head, gesturing for her to stay when she lingered at the door. "Please. I'm almost finished here. It's quite hard to concentrate, anyway."

Hannah nodded, twisting her hands.

"What's wrong?"

Hannah sighed. "The ball is tomorrow," she said, after a short pause. She was clearly ill at ease. "And Nancy is considering asking her father if the announcement of her engagement might be delayed."

Ned limited all sign of his reaction to a small rise in his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Hannah nodded. "For a _year_."

So it might not happen yet. Ned felt like he might not be in contact with the earth anymore. "Perhaps she would like a Season," he said, to fill the silence. "Before she is settled."

"Surely not. She has known for a long time..." Hannah broke off, shaking her head. "If she does not love him, perhaps she hopes another year will give her the time..."

But, as Hannah had said, Nancy had known for a long time, and her fiancé's looks and character were no surprise to her. If she did not love him now...

Ned quieted his racing thoughts with a cold realization. If Hardy had not won her heart, a Season would provide someone else who would. Nothing had changed, really, only the timing. And she might yet lose her nerve and let the engagement proceed as planned.

That night, Ned found a note on his pillow. Nothing else had been disturbed.

_I would be quite grateful for your attendance at the ball. I will save a dance for you._

_My love._

\--

Ned's best suit generally didn't seem out of place at the country dances in town or at the modest estates of the local men of business, but he was painfully aware of its date when he walked into the ballroom. The other men wore tight-fitting coats, elaborate neckcloths, tight boots polished to a high gloss. Ned's suit had been made for him two years earlier, and while it was dark and fit him well, he wore a neckcloth he had arranged in a simple knot himself, and no gleaming boots. Privately he thought he was likely much more comfortable than the other men in attendance.

And the women... the ballroom was a riot of glorious color, pastels and bold satins, lace and feathers and ribbon. Nancy had changed to a gown of sapphire blue, the same shade as her beautiful eyes, and her hair was pinned up and curling as it fell down the back of her neck. She looked incandescently beautiful, more beautiful than any other woman Ned had ever seen. All light in the room seemed to fall on her, turning her hair a shade more gold, her skin aglow. He couldn't look away from her. He didn't understand how anyone else in the room could look away.

_My love._

There had been no announcement, not yet. He would have felt it breaking his heart, no matter where he was.

A dance. A single dance.

The anticipation was terrible. Ned moved among the other guests, trying to hide the way his heart glowed when he looked at her, trying to keep it off his face. He watched her dance with her fiancé, and he could see the few times her steps faltered, but she soon recovered. He saw another man's hands on her, holding her close, and he choked down his anger with a fervent prayer. If Hardy could make her happy, he would begrudge her none of it. Her heart was her own to give.

Except that it wasn't, and never had been.

_My love._

Ned couldn't avoid hearing the whispered conversation in the ballroom, because so much of it involved her name. The announcement would be any time, now. It had to be. They looked so handsome together, so happy. Surely the announcement would come before dinner. Certainly it would be before a waltz, since she would hardly wish to be seen waltzing with a man who was not her betrothed.

Hardy walked alone to the refreshments table, and Ned swore that his heart could feel it before his eyes saw it. She walked toward him, and in her eyes was all he had seen the night of their dance.

"I am told the next dance is for us," she murmured.

"Is it?" He was too afraid to touch her; he was too afraid that everyone around them would see and know, and this private, special, delicate thing between them would dissolve. They were not unobserved any longer.

And those sapphire-blue eyes, now unblemished by tears, gazed unapologetically into his. He would follow her anywhere; he would do anything to put this look of sweet, innocent love on her face, a look that both dared him and invigorated him.

He would lose a part of himself if he lost her.

But when the band struck up the waltz, she glanced over at them and then back at him, lifting her chin. She could not ask him to dance, but when she took a half-step toward him, he couldn't say no. He closed the distance between them, resting one hand just above her waist, clasping her other hand in his.

Once he sensed that she had gained her bearings and was comfortable in the dance, he leaned toward her. "Men and women are expected to converse during a waltz," he murmured.

"And consider how beautiful it would be," she murmured, "if we could converse just like this, for always. All alone in a crowded room, together."

"In each other's arms." His voice was soft, but her answering smile was a year of happiness.

"If I gave you a year... a year of this, would we grow tired of each other?" She tilted her head, and her steps were even and sure as she followed his lead. "Or would we just grow to love each other more and more, until a year would feel like a second, and we would be left greedy for every moment we would ever share?"

He tilted his head too, realizing in some corner of his mind that he was perfectly aligned to kiss her. He wouldn't dare, not here, but oh how he wanted to. "If we had an infinity of years I would want an infinity more," he murmured. "As it is, we have this dance."

Only then, for a second, did the serene mask falter. "Is it all we can have?" she breathed. "Is it all?"

He couldn't answer her, and through the next set of steps they drew closer and closer, until he had to make a conscious effort not to pull her slender body against his. His head knew that even this was too much; his heart told him it would never be enough.

It was in her hands. It always had been.

The melody was beginning to soften as the song ended, and her eyes were wide as she gazed into his. "If I give you a year will you break my heart?"

He swallowed. "It would be like breaking my own," he told her. "You are the only one who ever could."

She gently squeezed his hand. "My love," she whispered.

His heart was beating so hard that he could feel it faintly trembling in his lips. "My love," he replied, so softly.

\--

No announcement was made at that ball. The Hardy family departed the following day, and the other guests dispersed as well. They had all seen it, the way Nancy and Ned had gazed into each other's eyes, like the world had stopped existing for them, like they could only see each other.

She begged her father for the year, and when he realized she would not be swayed easily, he gave it to her. The rest was harder, but the rest had already been done.

She gave Ned the year, and they took as much of it as they could, in long conversations, over picnics, while he accompanied her as she investigated her mysteries. Within a week they knew; within a month, they approached her father, and Ned risked it all, the job he loved, the estate he loved, his time with the woman he loved.

At Christmastime, the banns were read. His parents and his cousins, his grandfather and Terrence, and everyone else descended upon the village near River Heights to see their wedding, and Ned's great-uncle was the happiest of them all.

After the ceremony, they did as Nancy had wished. Her father hosted another celebration at his home, inviting their friends and families and the people from the village and the farms. Nancy and Ned danced and sampled the beautiful spread and praised each gift and token given them, from the elaborate to the simple.

It was the best day of Nancy's life. The sadness she had felt as her arranged marriage had approached was gone. When she looked into her husband's eyes she felt only joy, and the sweetness of anticipation. She and Ned had shared many kisses, but tonight they would share a bed for the first time.

She had changed her room to one in the other wing, one with a connecting room between her chamber and her husband's. She had a dressing room, a vanity, a large canopied bed... and, she had been told, she would prepare for bed and her husband would come to her. The act of lovemaking would likely cause her some mortification, some discomfort, possibly some pain; she might bleed. Then her husband would likely return to his room for the night, to give her privacy and time to recover.

Nancy had listened wide-eyed, already mortified. She hoped that "some" meant "little" and "might" meant "slightly possibly."

After she had prepared for bed, letting her hair down from its elaborate wedding-day style so that it tumbled in long reddish-gold waves down her back and putting on a silky ivory nightgown and a dressing gown over it to keep her warm, she put on her slippers. Her feet were chilly. And now she needed to wait... but she had never been very patient.

Ned looked up when she tapped on the door to his room, then opened it. He wore a nightshirt as well, and his room boasted a similarly large bed. "Hello, love," he murmured, a smile turning up his lips as she stepped fully inside.

"I was told that I should wait... but..."

He came over to her. "But you have never been patient," he murmured, and touched her cheek. "A bride eager for her wedding-night."

She moved a little closer to him. "I... should I go back to my room?"

"If you wish to. If you would be more comfortable there."

She gazed into his sweet dark eyes and knew she would never willingly walk away from him. "We can stay here," she murmured.

His smile broadened a little. "So nothing about our marriage will be conventional, I think," he murmured, and slid his arm around her waist. "A proper lady would likely faint at the very thought of initiating this."

"A proper lady would likely faint at half the things I do," Nancy retorted. Oh, she was so glad that they knew each other as they really were, that she didn't have to pretend to be anyone she wasn't when she was around him. "But if it upsets you..."

He chuckled and brushed the tip of his nose against hers. "Not in the least," he murmured. "The thought of you terrified, passive, upset... _that_ upsets me, love."

She gazed into his eyes. "If it is lovemaking, why should it be terrifying?" she murmured. "And if it is love and I love you as much as you love me, then why would I be passive?"

She would never speak it, and after tonight she thought that she might never think of it again, but Frank had attended their wedding, and she hadn't been able to help imagining what might have happened. With him she likely _would_ have been terrified and passive, because her fondness for him had never been love. She would have allowed him her body, as his wife, but he would never have had her heart.

But Ned was her friend, her protector, her partner, and she loved him. His kisses were sweet and tender, but when his tongue stroked against hers, when his strong arms held her tight to him, she was eager to understand, to stay with him.

"What do you think is about to happen, sweetheart?"

She colored slightly. "Something that I apparently might find disturbing," she murmured. "But I like it when you kiss me..."

"We could begin with that," he suggested. "Can I leave the lights on?"

She glanced from the bedside table to his face, and her heart skipped a beat. She nodded, unable to speak.

"We could just lie with each other," he suggested. "We can take our time with this, Nancy. It is a little like falling in love."

"So slow, over years, and then all at once," she told him, and smiled. "But I was always fond of you. Always in awe of you. And when I first knew I loved you, I thought... that you would never see me as anyone special."

"When you have always been the special person in my life," he murmured, and nuzzled against her neck, and she closed her eyes. "Just like this place has always been my home. With you."

She shivered when he began to guide her toward the bed, when he untied the sash of her dressing gown and slid his hands beneath. The feel of his lips and tongue against her neck and beneath her ear set off a delicious tingling, all the way down her spine, centered between her legs. He stroked her sides and hips, his palms warm through the thin silk.

"My wife," he whispered. "My love."

And she understood then, that night, as they slowly stripped each other naked, as they explored each other while the candles burned down. He touched her with such tenderness, his lips soft against her fingertips, her breastbone, her hips. She had never felt so close to anyone, or so safe and loved. By the time he finally touched the sensitive rosy tips of her breasts, she was sprawled naked, her legs open, her lips parted as she laced her fingers between his.

"If you like kisses," he whispered, and then his lips barely brushed against her nipple and she arched her back, releasing her next breath as a soft moan.

It was making love, and it was sweet and intoxicating and it overwhelmed her with the delight of it. She had the vaguest notion that the culmination of it was what had been described to her, but if so, all that came before it was lovely, and worth momentary discomfort. He licked and nuzzled against her breasts, and she stroked her palm against his back, running her fingers through his hair. Then she drew him to her, parting her lips beneath his as he kissed her, and it was the most natural thing in the world to draw her knees up, to savor the sensation as he pressed against her.

She explored him, her eyes wide with innocence and curiosity. She stroked his arms, his stomach, his hips. He shuddered when she put her hand on him, on that part of him that was most different from her. She kissed his fingertips and he ran his thumb over her lips, and his brown eyes were amber in the candlelight.

"Lie down," he murmured.

And then she understood that shudder when he parted her legs wide and cupped her between, parting her, stroking her, exploring her. She flushed hot, trembling, when he slid his fingers low and gently moved one inside her. She gasped, keeping herself from pushing him away and moving her legs together again.

"That part of me you touched... goes here."

She shuddered. "No," she breathed. "No... how?"

He smiled. "Let me show you," he whispered.

And he showed her then, how it was to be mastered, to experience love and be loved. Once he gently, slowly moved inside her—she felt pressure, and fullness, and a flash of soreness that was almost pain—and once she understood, she gazed up at him, aware that she was flushed and almost painfully self-conscious, and that Ned was nervous too.

"Is this..."

He nodded, then kissed her temple, her cheek. His lips met hers and she drew her bent knees up again, cradling him, giving herself over to the sensation of being loved by him, being joined to him. So this was what it was, and clearly her husband's pleasure was almost painfully intense. It was all too overwhelming, and she didn't yet know how she felt.

Then he moved inside her, and she arched, welcoming him, loving him in return. She pressed herself up from her heels and gripped his shoulders, and when he kissed her again she shuddered. His movement inside her, against her still-tender flesh, was indescribable.

She whimpered his name on his third thrust. "Ohhh..."

"Yes," he whispered. "Oh, yes, love."

He made two more thrusts, and she tipped her head back, gasping, a delicate pleasure coiling in her belly, leaving her warm and trembling. Then he moved over her with a long pleased groan, his hips jerking once. She stroked his back, gasping her breath back, relaxing underneath his solid weight.

When she had been told, it had not been like this, it had never been like this. There had been no mention of such intimacy that she would be undone by it, undone and remade all over again with her husband. That the act of becoming one flesh would be anything beyond pain and discomfort.

Maybe other women did not enjoy it, but those other women were not married to her husband.

Ned panted too, and once she had recovered some, he nuzzled against her neck. "Slow and then all at once," he whispered. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

She shook her head when he pulled back to gaze into her face, his eyes anxious. "I am loved," she whispered. "We are undone, and we are one. And I love you."

"And I love you," he whispered. "As I have never loved anyone or anything else, my wife."

And she fell asleep in his chamber and in his bed, wrapped in his arms, naked. She savored the newness of it, of being so exposed. When she woke in the night, shivering, he drew her closer, then on top of him.

She taught _him_ how to be mastered then, to let himself be loved, as she straddled him and took his length in that tender, still slightly sore part of her. She let him guide her as she rode him, and she moaned when he caressed her breasts, rubbing his thumbs back and forth against her nipples. She felt like she was out of control, responding only to sensation and desire and the way he moved her. She rode him until that coiling pleasure became tight and nearly unbearable, until her every sighed breath was a moan edged in a gasp of arousal.

And then the flesh between her legs, where she had sheathed him, where he joined to her, began to tighten and pulse. She panted, sobbing as her hips jerked, and he drew her down to him, holding her head to his, sealing his mouth to hers as she screamed, as that coiling finally released. Then he reached down and she flushed as he cupped her bottom, shifting her angle, and his hips jerked as he surged inside her.

She went limp against him, cushioned by him, still joined to him. She nestled her head against his shoulder and he stroked her sweat-dampened back, his heart thundering against hers as they panted.

"My delicate flower," he breathed, and ran his palm over her hair. "I am in awe of you, love. Why should love be passive when it can be like this..."

She kissed him slowly, then shifted so she could stroke his brow and gaze into his eyes. "Always," she whispered.

"Always," he vowed, and kissed her again.


End file.
